


Hopes & Nightmares

by theechosea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College, F/M, Ghosts, Implied Sexual Content, John is Missing, Kissing, POV Sam Winchester, Road Trips, Sam has Nightmares, Sam hates Halloween
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theechosea/pseuds/theechosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is trying to enjoy his time at college. He has a loving relationship with Jessie, good friends, a promising future career--if only he could shake these nightmares; but then his brother shows up with earth-shattering NEWS.<br/>What's a kid to do?<br/>(Loosely based on S1E01: Pilot)<br/>-----</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> My muse decided among other things Sam is a little younger at series start, and I'm just sorta letting things flow as they go, not trying to follow dialogue, but keeping significant bits of info, LSAT scores, for example. I also wanted to expand a bit on things with him and Jessie given there's so little on their relationship shown. Anyway, hope you enjoy.  
> (And apologies to anyone who is following THG: MJ: Retrieval because muse decided to push this out instead of updating that, blame a conversation K and I were having about SPN)

"Sam. Sam!" Jessie's face appears as I open my eyes. It's full of concern, "You were having a nightmare," she says.

Wouldn't be the first time. I sit up, "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't," she says, pushing my shoulder and than wrapping her arms around me from the side, "You need comfort. I'm glad I woke up. Better than that night of you pacing the other room a couple of weeks ago not wanting to wake me, right?"

"Right," I say quietly, full of rue.

She ruffles my hair, "Don't blame yourself. Blame your fucked up upbringing." She moves around to kiss my nose, "What was it about?"

"Something bad happened to you," Is all I can bring myself to tell her. I don't want to lay back down because she was above me on the ceiling: burning.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says.

"I know. It wasn't like that...it wasn't on purpose," I sigh, "There was a fire."

She hugs me tighter, kisses my ear and my cheek, "Oh, Sam..."

She knows what happened to my Mom, of course, but I was a baby. I don't actually remember it. I was just told. House fire. After Dad sent my brother out with me he tried to get her out. He couldn't and it was more than too late by the time the fire department got there.

"It's probably just the LSATs winding me up," I reason, "pulling shit from my past, right?"

"I'm not the psych major. That's Aliya," she points out, "but it sounds reasonable. Logical, even."

"That's me." I put my head down on my knees.

I feel her kissing the knuckles of the hand that's closest to her. One kiss on each knuckle, "I'm not going anywhere, okay?" she says, "And the landlord had to put in new sprinkler systems before he could rent all these properties, and we're always super careful about leaving things on, neither of us smoke. No fire hazards, right?" she rubs my back.

"Right," I tell my knees.

"So, come on, crazy head," she pushes me back and forth until I look up at her again, "Let's get this out of your brain so we can go back to sleep," she has a mischievous look on her face.

"How are you suggesting that we do that?" I ask her, "Do you have some sort of brain sucking device?"

"Sort of," she grins, "You boys are easy when it comes to things like this," she plants her hands on either side of me and brings her face up close to mine, "because as soon as certain things happen it takes complete control," she rubs her nose against mine closing in further so that I wind up backing against the wall a bit and she straddles me, "over every impulse you have and you can only think about one thing."

She kisses me deeply, hands on either side of my face, tongue chasing mine, and she's right.

I'm gone—lost in her and nothing else matters.  

 

☼☼☼☼☼

 

“Come on, Sam,” she pulls at me, “I don't care if you're not going to dress up you're coming out.”

“You know how I feel about Halloween,” I point out, closing the fridge.

She wraps her arms around my neck from behind. The hard cardboard of the fake nurse cap sticks into my cheek, “Well, it's not Halloween yet.”

“I know, but it's a Halloween party.”

“But it's _not_ Halloween so just think of it as a fancy dress party where we're celebrating your LSAT results,” she lets go of me to readjust the cap.

“I don't know, Jess—”

“You do know, Jess,” she taps my ankle with her heavy white platform boot. I fake being grievously injured. She just rolls her eyes at me.

“Wow, thank you, Miss Nurse. Great bedside manner.”

“My bedside manner is fine,” she says, “It's your--”

“How am I going to work on my _bed_ side manner if we're _out_ at a bar?” I ask her, wrapping my arms around her waist.

“How about you won't get any bedside anything if you don't come to the bar with me?” she replies, “and don't,” she pushes my face away from her neck and rearranges her blonde and brown curls, “you'll knock the cap off again and it takes forever to get the damn thing straight.”

“Fine. Fine. You drive a hard bargain. I will come to this bar.”

“Damn right you will,” she smiles.

“I'm still not dressing up.”

“Fine,” she says, “We'll work on that for next year.”

 

Jessie's looking for Aliya but can't find her. We run into Corey soon enough, shambling around as a zombie. He clumsily wraps his arms around the two of us, I'm not sure if it's zombie acting or drunkenness, and guides us towards a table before it's no longer vacant. The place is full of hot bees, cat girls, witches, vampires of various origins. I can see a Frankenstein's monster, a Beetlejuice, Jason, a zombie nurse, a couple who didn't survive their wedding or who perhaps killed each other dancing in a vague circle on the left side of the room.

I keep my focus on Jessie. I hate this night; but it is refreshing, I suppose, to be out at a bar with friends and not traipsing through some wood, haunted house or graveyard digging things up, salting and shooting beasts and setting things on fire which I'm sure is what I'd be doing...is what Dad and Dean might be doing.

“You alright?” Corey asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “Just trying to work out if I know Beetlejuice.”

He peers around me, “No clue. Could be anyone.”

“Yeah.”

Jessie sets some shots down on the table in front of us, proclaiming proudly the advantages of boobs with regards drinks and ID, “Come on,” she says, “I want to celebrate. Where's Aliya?”

“Haven't seen her,” Corey says, “Brady was about before, but the asshole ran off with some chick dressed like the slutty witch of the west,” there's a beat, “Wait—what are we celebrating?”

“Sam's LSAT results!” she says.

“Who what now?” he asks, trying to stick some zombie flesh back onto his cheek with spit on his finger, “You got those? What did you get, you bastard, like a 150?”

“No,” I shake my head, “I got--”

“A one-seventy-four!” Jessie comes around my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek.

“Isn't that thing out of one-eighty or something? Didn't you say?” Corey asks.

“Yes!” Jessie says, “Now come on! If they're not going to—Aliya!” she yells, “There you are you evil woman! Come on! We're celebrating!”

Aliya carefully threads her way through the crowd. She's dressed all in white and cream, long sleeves, long pants, strange boots. She has thick silver bangles around each upper forearm, and a holster at her hip and a plastic gun.

“Hail, Padme!” Corey says, “Do not shoot me, Princess. I am a friendly zombie and do not work for the Dark Side.”

“That's good to know,” she says, “What are we celebrating?”

Jessie pushes her a shot, “Sam's LSAT grades. Everyone got one?” She looks around the small table we're clustered at.

“They're what now?” Aliya asks.

“He's only six points away from perfect!” Corey slaps me on the back.

“Oh?”Aliya pokes me, “Is that all? Did you run out of ink?”

“Shut up!”

“Shots!” Jessie commands, drumming her hand on the table.

We dutifully knock them back.

“Your family must be super proud of you,” Aliya remarks, more seriously.

“Yeah,” Corey says, “What did they say when you called?”

Jessie passes out the second, and last, full set of shots. There are two more left given she was also looking for Brady to be here. She's giving me a concerned look.

“They didn't. We don't exactly...we're not the Brady Bunch.”

“Well mine's not the Cosbys but they'd be super happy--” Corey points out.

“You guys are happy for me and that's what's important to me,” I tell him, “Come on shot!”

“Stop it,” Corey says, “I'm getting all choked up over here.”

“Good thing we have a nurse,” Aliya jokes.

“I'm not doing surgery on him--” Jessie says, “Besides he's undead. Zombies don't choke.”

I will not start over thinking this I command my brain which is trying to remember if Dad ever said anything about zombies and if they're actually a thing: ghosts, kitsune I know, stop it, “Shots!” I remind them.

We knock those back too, and then Jessie whisks me over with the remaining two shots to what passes for the dance floor and we whirl around for a while.

“Are you sure you want to focus on law?” she asks me after a while, “You've been doing well with computers.”

“We'll see what happens after the interviews, I guess.”

“You know you'll ace those interviews.”

“Let's not talk about this now,” I beg her.

“Alright,” she says, “Later; but we _will_ talk about it later.” 

“I promise,” I say, kissing her. 

 

As we're walk-stumbling back to the small house we're renting, several hours later, there's a moment where I could swear I see the  _Impala_ but it's probably just guilt feelings. 

“You're okay?” Jessie asks. 

“Yeah,” I hug my arm around her waist more tightly and nuzzle into her neck, “Just looking for ghosts.” 

“Oooh,” she waves the arm not around my waist in a boogedy fashion towards my face, “It's not the witching day yet, right?” 

“Not technically.” 

“What is your thing with that, anyway?” she asks, “I remember when Aliya was talking about getting a ouija board and I thought you were going to have a heart attack.” 

“I just don't think you should screw around with that shit.” It comes out harsh, I know. I can't help it. Hopefully she's too drunk to notice. She hasn't found the lock box in the back of my closet, and she was in class when I was moving my share of things in and put the runes on the doors and windows in wax and the salt in the curtain rails and the back of the window frames. Thankfully she's not really a neat freak and doesn't dust. I hate being so fucking paranoid at times and then I'm glad when nothing shows up in the middle of the night to eat either of us and then I wonder if I should try and explain it all instead of just painting Dad as a PTSD suffering Marine who really went downhill after his wife died in a house fire. 

“Alright!” she snaps back. Clearly not, “You know it's just a board game, right?” 

“Sure,” and I know that's sarcastic, “Let's just change the subject, okay?” 

“So, your interview.” 

Walked into that one, “What about it?” 

“Sometimes you don't seem like you're so sure about law school is all. I know you got the 174 but if you don't want to go...you don't need to be doing something you hate just because you'd be good at it. I mean, I know you'll ace the interviews, but...” 

“Do you not want me to go to law school?” 

She gives a vague laugh, “This isn't about me, Sam.” 

I stop walking and take my arm from around my waist, “I get weirded out about things some times, I do. I never thought I'd be here with...options. I want to do the interviews and then see. It's not like the transfer is immediate.” 

“True,” she wraps her arms around my waist, and spins a little from side to side, “I just want to be sure you're going to be happy with what you're doing.” 

“That's very kind of you, and that's one of the reasons I love you.” I kiss her nose, “Now, are you happy?” 

“Yes. I am. I'm very happy.” 

We start walking again. To get the house we have to go around the corner and down the street, so it doesn't take much longer. I can't help but look around as we go inside. Jessie always tells me she finds my cautiousness cute, if unnecessary. She pokes me in the side after she takes off the boots and throws them disgustedly into the corner. I look around again as I lock up. 

“Come on to bed!” She shouts, “I have a theory that if I tire you out you won't have a nightmare.” 

“Oh?” 

“And I have a theory on a really good way to tire you out?” 

“Oh?” 

She tosses her nurses outfit in my direction. 

I run towards the bedroom, dropping my jacket on a nearby chair. My shirt falls on the floor in the corner of the bedroom as I go and she giggles from the bed as I jump on to it. 

"What are you thinking I meant?" she laughs, "I'm going to take a shower. You're going to rearrange the furniture." 

"Right--" I say, "A shower. That's why you're lying naked on the bed." 

"Well," she says, "I don't know what you think you're going to do if you still have your pants on," and she leans up to kiss me while tugging at my belt. 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few bits and pieces lifted directly from the pilot, but for the most part dialogue and such is entirely my own creation :) hope you enjoy.

Danger.

There was a noise in the other room. In the front of the house. I slip out of bed, grabbing the knife I keep in the always slightly open drawer of the bedside cabinet and carefully pad down the short corridor towards the sound. Someone or something is in the house. More likely someone considering all the wards and protections, but you never know, something could have broken, moved salt, wax sigil rubbed somehow. Landlord and friends are less likely to notice them but it's harder to see if they get messed up too.

There they are: the figure at the edge of the kitchen. I grab them intent to hold the knife to their throat and demand answers but they manage to disarm me and we struggle, punches, blocks, swipes, kicks for a moment until I find myself pinned—and my brother's face over mine.

“Dean? What the hell?”

“You're out of practice,” he accuses. I sweep my legs around so I can flip our positions, “or maybe not.”

“You didn't answer. What the hell are you doing here? How the hell did you know--?” Then I remember thinking I saw the _Impala_ earlier, apparently I actually did, and he followed me—us. At least I know he's alive but God damn it.

“What's going on?” Jessie's voice, concerned. The light flips on.

“Well, heeey,” Dean says, leering in her direction.

“Don't.” I smack him in the head, releasing my hold and standing up.

“Love the...smurfs,” he settles, referring to her t-shirt. Maybe feeling me glaring through the back of his head.

She frowns, adjusting her shirt down and then up again and checking her pants. I'm grateful she pulled on the PJ bottoms instead of coming down in just the underwear she'd been sleeping in. Dean can't turn it off. Ever. Apparently. Jessie moves behind the counter slightly.

I sigh, “Jess, Dean. Dean, Jessie.”

Dean stands up, finally.

“Dean?” Jessie queries, “Like, brother Dean.”

“Yes,” I'm sure my lack of enthusiasm is clear.

“Pleased to meet you?” Jessie says, looking him up and down.

“Don't sound so happy,” Dean remarks, “or have you just realized now how far out of Sam's league you are and want to upgrade.”

“She's as confused to see you as me,” I point out, shortly, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for beer.”

I fold my arms, “You couldn't have waited for morning and knocked like a civilized person?”

He gives me a look. I suppose he has a point. I might not have let him in. At least he clearly picked the lock and didn't break a window.

“You didn't come all the way from wherever just for beer.”

“Can you excuse us?” he asks Jessie.

Oh, great. What monster is knocking around that he thinks I want to get in on the hunt for? But at least he's trying to keep her out of it.

“What is going on?” she asks.

“I don't...” I shake my head, “You know, anything you want to say, you can explain it in front of her.” I kinda want to see how this goes.

He sighs, “Dad's...” he's clearly choosing words carefully which is something, “not been home for a while and I'm...concerned.”

“I'm sure he'll stumble back soon enough.”

“You don't--” he's exasperated now, “He went on a _hunting_ trip.”

Shit.

“Sam?” Jessie asks.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her, “I have to talk to Dean outside now,” I grab Dean by the elbow and escort him towards the door.

“What happened to you can explain it in front of her?” Dean snarks.

“Shut up. You know what happened.”

Dean just laughs as the door shuts, but then things turn serious as we cross the porch and walk down the steps a little way, “That's why you broke in? To get me to drop everything and go on the road with you.”

“Dad's missing, Sammy.” Dean repeats.

“It's not like he's never been missing before. There was that poltergeist in—in Amherst, and Clifton—the Devil's Gates, and he was missing then too and he was fine. He'll show up, probably battered and bleeding but he'll be fine as he ever is.”

“Not for this long.” he insists, “You going to come with me or not?”

“I'm not.”

He clearly was not expecting this answer, the look he gives me.

“I swore I was done hunting,” I remind him, “for good.”

“Oh, come on. It might not have been easy, but it wasn't that bad.”

I snort, “Clearly you and I--” I shake my head, “Seriously? Kids aren't supposed to grow up thinking that the best way to deal with monsters under the bed or in the closet is by melting down silver into bullets and loading them into a .45.”

“So, what when you came crying about the monster he was supposed to say 'Don't be afraid of the dark' or something?” he retorts, “You know what's in the dark, Sammy. You damn well should be afraid of it. Was he supposed to lie to you? And leave you at risk?”

“I don't...” have an answer for that, damn it.

“You know what happened to Mom.”

“No one ever let me forget what happened to Mom but chasing leads around the country moving every 6-18 months my whole life hasn't lead to anything has it? You think Mom would have wanted him doing this to us?”

Dean turns away from me and then turns back, “So, you ran away for white picket fences and apple pie?” he says after a moment.

“No. I left to go to college and you were right there when Dad told me if I walked away I should stay gone. I'm just being a 'good son' and 'following orders'.”

Dean shakes his head, “The point is he's in real trouble right now. He could even be dead already.”

“Right, sure.”

“Stop it.” Dean says, “I don't—I can't do this alone.”

“Yes. You can.”

“I don't want to.”

I am going to regret asking this, but he looks so worried, and he's Dean, “What was he hunting?”

His eyes light up and he goes and opens the _Impala_ 's trunk, and pulls out a sheaf of papers, “So about a month ago...”

“Wait—why weren't you with him, anyway?”

“I was down in New Orleans dealing with this voodoo thing.”

“Alone?”

“I'm not twelve.”

“I know that. I just didn't think that Dad knew that.”

“Anyway,” Dean hands over the papers, “This guy went missing on the two lane blacktop just outside of Jericho.” Jericho. Why does that sound familiar? “They found his car, but no sign of him.”

“So, kidnapped? Ran away off and made it look like that?”

“Except,” he flicks at the papers, “There are others, if you go through, since the 80s. There's ten of them in the same few miles of road, all guys, it was one every couple of years so I guess no one thought anything, but there was one last year, six months ago and the recent one.” I look at the papers. Oh, Jericho, right, that's north of here, close-ish to Reno, “With it getting more frequent Dad decided to go check it out. That was three weeks ago and I didn't hear anything from him until this voice mail yesterday.”

He turns his phone on speaker and hits the playback. The recording is all jacked up and full of static in a way that gives me the chills, and then Dad's voice, “Dean, something is start to happen. I think it's serious. I need to try and figure out what's going on.” There's distortion but I can make out something, not Dad, damn it, “be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

“You know there's EVP on that,” I tell him, which I'm sure is unnecessary.

“Just like riding a bike, isn't it?” he says, sounding so proud of me I almost want to throw up, “I ran it through the stuff and cleared it up and I got this.”

He picks up the micro recorder we use and checks the tape and then presses play there's a small amount of Dad's voice distorted and then a woman says, “I can never go home.”

“Never go home,” I repeat. Well, there's an irony.

“It's been almost two years,” Dean says, closing the trunk and sitting on it, “and I've left you alone. Not bothered you. Not asked you for a thing.”

Don't, I almost say, but I just take a deep breath, “I'll go with you, okay. I'll help you find him, but there's a condition. It's just that. Just this one thing. I have to be back by Monday. I have an interview.”

“You can skip a job interview.”

“It's not a job interview. It's for law school.” He doesn't need to know it's not specifically on Monday.

“Law school?” I can tell by the look on his face he doesn't believe what he's hearing.

“Yes. This is very important for my future, okay? I can't miss it.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes. Fine.” He waves a hand towards me from his seat on the car's trunk.

“Alright. Wait here, then. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

 

Jessie is sitting in the front room idly flipping through TV channels. She jumps up as soon as I come in, “So, what's going on?”

I sigh, “I told Dean I'd go with him to find Dad.”

She looks confused, relieved and worried all at once, “You did?”

“I'm not doing it for Dad. I'm doing it for Dean.” I clarify, “He's really freaked out.”

“Ah,” she says, reaching for my arm, “And what about you? How are you doing?”

“I don't know,” I admit, leaning against the kitchen counter for a moment. She kisses my cheek.

“You can always just call the cops or the park rangers or something?” she says, “Drunkard with shot guns...I'm sure they deal with stuff like that all the time. Danger to self and others.”

“Yeaah,” I shake my head, “No, it's fine. Half the time he doesn't even...Hunting is just code, okay? He's just holed up somewhere with Jim and Jack, most likely. It'll just take a couple of days.”

“I could come with you?” she asks.

“No! No. I don't...”

“Geez, I'm sorry,” she retorts.

“No, it's just. I don't—my family is a mess, and he'll be. It's just best you stay here and out of it,” I head into the bedroom looking for a bag, “Dean says he's about five or six hours north from here. We'll just pop up there, drag his ass in the car and Dean can drop me off before heading back wherever they're living now.”

“You're sure you're okay?” she asks, again, “You don't see how flaily you're getting.”

“I don't get flaily.”

“Yes. You do,” she grabs my hands, “You don't have to go. You have that interview. Use it as an excuse.”

“I already promised downstairs, and I made him promise to have me back by Monday for the interview.” I pull the bag out of the top of the closet and dump it on the bed. I know it's already got some clothes in it. I double check it. I can't remember what I don't and don't have in there having not needed a go bag for quite some time.

“From what you've said they don't seem like they're that good at keeping promises, Sam.”

I sit down on the bed. She sits next to me, moving the bag and eyeing it suspiciously probably because it's already partially packed.

“It'll be fine, Jess.”

“You can understand why I'd be worried, though, can't you? There's so much about them you don't talk about. You moved around so much. You have these scars, and nightmares, and your Dad was—and you don't talk to them. He cut you off over college—over college, Sam. Most families are _proud_ when their kids go to college. Your brother _broke in_ instead of knocking.”

“We have issues.”

“Those aren't _issues_. That's—that's...I don't even have a word for what that is,” she takes my hand and squeezes it.

“That's why I want to keep you separate from all that bullshit,” I wave my hand towards the street. I kiss her, deeply.

She takes the back of my head, as we kiss more.

I don't want to break apart from the kiss but I have to.

“Argh, I have to go, or Dean will be breaking back in here to see what's taking so long.”

“Yes, please. No more of that,” she says.

I pull the bag over and rifle through it. Dean will have plenty of weapons. No sense in going to the lock box and starting up a whole other discussion. I pull on jeans, and a different t-shirt, toss deodorant towards the bag, which Jess picks up off the bed and puts into it for me. She goes and grabs a ziploc and puts my toothbrush and toothpaste in it.

“You're too sweet.”

“Yup. It's the one thing your brother and I can agree on. I'm out of your league.”

“Don't start,” I beg her.

She laughs, and kisses me again, “Just don't get into trouble wherever you're headed off to.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll call you once we get to a place to stay and assure you I'm alive.”

“Good,” she says, “Come back in one whole piece or I will skin your brother.”

“I'll be sure and tell him you said so.” 


	3. Chapter 3

 

There's awkward silence after I navigate us out of the neighborhood and back to the highway the easier way than Dean got in. It's so odd being in the front of the _Impala._ After we're on the main highway which promises a two and a half hour straight drive (through probably two with the way Dean drives) he has me pull an old shoe box out from under the seat which turns out to be full of cassette tapes.

“Wow, really?” I say, looking through them.

“What do you mean 'wow, really?'”

“I mean: Black Sabbath, AC/DC, Metallica. Is this Iron Maiden? Don't you have anything from this decade?” As I continue to shuffle through the tape cases I can't find anything to counter my hypothesis.

“You're in shotgun, Sammy,” he says, passing several cars at high speed.

“And?”

“That means you shut your cake hole about the music and pass me Metallica.”

“Fine. Fine.” I open one of the Metallica tape cases and offer it to him so he can pull the tape out and jam it in the cassette player, “You know Sammy is what you call a twelve year old kid. I'm not twel--”

He turns the music up to what might well be full volume, “I can't hear you!”

I have to cover my ears. After a few moments he turns the music back down to a less head-splitting volume and the awkward silence.

I watch out of the window at the darkness rolling by and hope that the drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the music and him occasionally singing along to choruses will keep me awake. We'd only been asleep for a couple of hours when he broke in. I'm starting to doze when Dean clears his throat and startles me.

“You're liking this college thing then?”

“Yes, Dean. I am.”

He shakes his head, and looks out the driver's side window for a moment, “You always were a weirdo.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“Yeah. If you think I'm weird I'm doing something right.”

“Wow, Sammy. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” I snap.

Silence again.

 

She's pleading. I can tell she's trying to reach for me but for some reason she can't. I try to get to her, but then the flames. They buffet and throw me away, so hot, scorching at my flesh.

 

I jerk awake. Unfamiliar. Arm bashing against glass.

“You okay there, Sammy?”

Sammy again, “It's Sam. Please. Just Sam.”

“You okay?” Dean amends.

The car is bumping into a gas station which looks as though it's fallen out of a Western horror movie. That's always a good sign for pending trouble. We stop at the first gas pump and Dean turns off the car but doesn't get out of the car. He's still expecting an answer.

“Yeah. No, I just forgot where I was. I haven't slept in the car in ages and I don't think ever up front.”

Dean laughs, “If you're not happy with the promotion,” he cocks his head towards the back seat which has my bag in it, but also some loose clothing of his and other random things piled up back there. I see a couple of mismatched shoes, some electrical cables.

“That's okay.”

“Alright. I'm gonna pay for gas and get food. You want anything?”

I shrug, “I'm good.”

“Don't change your mind now, because you're out of luck. I offered.”

“Whatever.”

He disappears and I find my cellphone. Based on the time we can't be that far away from the town. Signal strength is down to half what it normally is at school. Jess might be up by now. I hit call.

“Hey, you!” she says, “You're there already?”

“We stopped for gas. Looks like we're gonna be out in the sticks and signals pretty shitty already so I figured I'd check in now.”

“Awwww,” she teases, “and here I thought you just missed me already.”

“I do.”

“Good save, but hey you guys haven't killed each other yet, so that's good.”

“I told you it'd be fine,” I say, I'm about to say there's still time though but I hear her explaining to someone that I'm off with my prodigal brother, “Who're you ratting me out too?”

“Well, since I was all by myself I took myself out to breakfast,” she says with a pouty tone, “and I ran into Brady and Corey.”

“Ah, Brady survived the wicked witch, then?”

I hear the thunking of the gas pump going into the tank.

“Apparently,” she says, “Unless he's some sort of mind-controlled puppet man now.”

“Don't joke about that.”

“Hey, Brady,” she says, “Tell me something only we would know. Prove you're still you.”

I hear some murmuring, and then loud laughter from Corey and Jess both.

“It's still Brady,” she says, “and lighten up, being around your brother's got you super paranoid.”

“Sorry, I'm just tired.”

“And being around your brother has you super paranoid,” she says, again, “Was your family in some weird cult or something?”

“No.”

“Uh-huh,” she says.

“Look, Jess. We're about done here at the station and we'll be on the road again. Plan is to check around for Dad and we probably won't get into a motel until later tonight. I'll call from the motel if signal's too bad, okay?”

“Alright,” she says, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I love you too,” Dean says, getting into the car.

I pull a face at him.

“No, seriously,” he says, “See look, despite you saying you didn't want anything I got you breakfast.” He hands over a plastic bag loaded down with things and sets an open bottle of soda into the cup holder next to him.

“That's _not_ breakfast.” I point out surveying the contents.

“Sure it is.”

“ _Dew, Doritos_ and _Mars_ bars?”

“Yeah.” He puts the car in gear and starts to pull out.

“How are you still alive?” I shake my head, going through the bag, “Oh, wait there are _Twinkies_ too.”

“Those are for lunch.”

I give him another look.

“Well, more like mid-morning snack. I'm sure we can find some place to eat lunch.”

“How did you pay for all this anyway?”

“Are you sure you want to ask me that, Mr. Future Lawyer?”

I was right. We pass a sign that says Jericho is only 7 miles away.

“Shit, you and Dad are doing the credit card scams aga—still?”

“Are you legally obligated to report us now or something?” he asks.

“I'm not a lawyer yet, and...” I sigh, “All I've done is pass the LSATs, and you're family, Dean.”

“Oh, I am, am I?”

“Don't be like that.” Change the subject, “What name's on the card anyway?”

“Why do you care?”

“If it's an alias I need to know what to call you.”

“Oh, right. They sent us a pair this time. We applied as Bert Aframian and his son Hector.” How do they even come up with these names?

“So, you're Hector, right?”

“Funny, Sammy, funny.”

“I'm just asking...”

“How about we go back to shotgun shuts his cake hole,” he pushes the tape out of the cassette deck and pushes it back in again, “besides it's not our fault if they send us the cards. They're the ones who should check better.”

“Right...”

I sit back in the seat and wish I'd thought to grab a book to read before we left. I'm sure there are some things in the care, but I'm really not in the mood for something along the lines of a “History of Curses” or “Signs of Witches”, “West Coast Hauntings: A History”. I used to know “Top Ten Haunted Houses of America” backwards and forwards that's one of the tamer ones though, light on the entrails eating.

Dean slows the car down as we're approaching a fork in the road, one way goes across a bridge over a river.

“Check it out,” he says.

There are a couple of police cars stopped nearby and the officers are poking around, one in particular seems despondent. I roll the window down as Dean goes into the glove compartment and pulls out a box and starts flipping through it.

Fake I.Ds. Great.

“You can stay back. It's not like you have any,” he says.

“I'll come with you. No telling what trouble you're going to get yourself in to.”

“I've done this by myself many times.”

“Uh-huh.”

He pulls out a Marshall I.D, clambers out of the car and I follow. We walk up to the police officers who are on the bridge. They don't seem to have found any signs of fingerprints, or any physical evidence, and one is asking another if his daughter, Amy, was dating the guy, Troy, they're looking for or not and he says she was and is apparently putting up fliers around town—I can see where we'll be going next.

“You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?” Dean asks, all nonchalant as we walk up.

“Who are you?” the one whose daughter is not dating the victim says to Dean.

Dean flips the badge out, “Federal Marshals. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Aren't you boys a little young to be Marshals?”

“Mighty nice of you to say that,” Dean remarks, “but you did have another one just like this, right?”

“Yeah, that's right,” he answers, “about a mile up the road, and there was another one before that.”

“And you knew the victim?” I ask him.

“A town like ours everybody knows everybody,” he replies.

Dean circles the victim's car, “Any connection between the victims other than they're all men?” he asks.

“Not as far as we can tell.”

“What's the theory?” I ask him, joining Dean.

“Honestly?” he asks, “We don't know. Serial murder, kidnapping ring.”

“Well, that's just the kind of crack police work I'd expect from you guys--”

Oh, way to piss off the locals. I step on his foot, “Thank you for your time, officers. We'll be on our way.”

As we're leaving F.B.I agents are approaching with another officer, and in another genius move Dean nods at them calling them Mulder and Scully.

“What the Hell, man?” Dean demands as we're closer to the car.

“You're 'What the Hell'ing me?”

“Yeah, jamming on my foot like that!”

“Really? You were being an asshole.”

“We're all alone on this! If we're going to find Dad we got to get to the bottom of this and they don't know what's going on.”

“That's not their fault. We would be just as blind if Mom hadn't—you know. Going on our normal lives. I'd be in college. You might even too, or off in the military like Dad, or who knows?”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“We might need their help later, and now you've pissed them off.”

“Well, you were a suck up if we do you can talk to them,” he climbs in the car, “Let's go find the girl friend.”

“I figured as much.”

“Kiss-ass.”

“Douche bag.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
